Posted on Sunday, 21 May 2000
The trip from London had been pleasant enough. Soft March breezes--pillowy, downy clouds playing hide-and-seek with the sun--young animals wobbling beside their mothers on fresh green, lush hills. Orchards in bloom-the world warming and glowing with expectation. Companionable silences broken by earnest discussions broken by good-natured ribbing. Hearty inn fare-pretty maids and honest landlords.
Fitzwilliam Darcy had often thought the best part of his annual visit to Rosings was the coach trip from London in the company of his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Partly it was the Colonel's company. Partly it was his enjoyment of traveling-with a good road and good horses, fifty miles was an easy distance. Mostly he savored the beauty and promise of spring that would be shut out of the dreary, closed world that awaited them.
Darcy sighed as he thought of the fortnight he would spend at Rosings. Stifling yawns while Aunt de Bourgh held court and Anne held silent. Stifling guffaws as the Colonel shot him glances that mocked their duty to pay homage to their heritage. His only real release was to escape by foot or by horse. Rosings was beautiful in the spring, and Darcy planned to spend as much time as possible out of doors and out of earshot.
He had much to think through. Georgiana needed him in London. Reynolds needed him at Pemberley. Caroline Bingley needed him to keep Charles distracted from thoughts of Netherfield and the scenery of Hertfordshire. Darcy knew he needed distraction himself. He'd had far too much time on his hands to brood over the painful lot of a rich, handsome, intelligent young man who couldn't have the woman he wanted. Her family wasn't suitable enough for him to make her his wife, but too suitable to make her anything else. So there you had it. His predicament had made him gloomy, out of sorts, bad tempered. He had stayed indoors through the winter, and his mind was fatigued and discontented.
Darcy and the Colonel went directly from their coach to the drawing room and greeted their aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and her daughter Anne. Darcy bowed formally and kissed his aunt's hand, repeating the ceremony over his cousin.
"Nephews, welcome to Rosings," Lady Catherine began. "I do wish you would come more often. Darcy, you should think of Rosings as you do Pemberley. You should think of it as your home."
Darcy gritted his teeth, smiling politely. Neither the theme nor the words were new. Old ground to cover again. He needn't brace himself to his aunt's wheedling. He had never considered marriage to Anne as a possibility, much less the certainty his aunt did. After meeting Elizabeth and crashing headlong into a passion that left him breathless, he had resigned himself to life without her; the thought of Anne as wife was repugnant. Forget an heir-he needed occupation.
Darcy took refreshment as Colonel Fitzwilliam exchanged pleasantries with Anne and her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson. Presently, the Colonel joined Darcy.
"Good news--we shall at least have a least a broader circle this year. Aunt tells me her clergyman has a bride, and the bride has a friend." The Colonel grinned. "And I'll wager the friend is pretty. At least pretty enough to make me call at the parsonage to pass the time."
"Her clergyman? I know her clergyman." Darcy said. "Well, I should say he thrust his acquaintance upon me...when I was in Hertfordshire last November. An odious man. No manners and less sense. I can't imagine the woman who would find herself in such a desperate situation that she would consent to marry that man."
"Then you'll know the woman. He was married in Hertfordshire."
"And how do you know all of this, Cousin?" Darcy enjoyed the Colonel's easy manners that inspired even the most retiring people to share their secrets with him.
"Mrs. Jenkinson is almost as eager to talk as she is to be listened to."
"I'd say a visit to the parsonage is in order. Brides must be visited, and their friends must be welcomed."
A quick walk to the parsonage meant an escape from Lady Catherine. Although they had but arrived, already her company was oppressive. Darcy smiled as he remembered how longingly Mrs. Jenkinson had looked after them. Whoever Mr. Collins had married and brought to Hunsford, she and her friend would at least give them better conversation than they had expected. Perhaps Mrs. Long had finally shed her daughter. She couldn't dance either. Maybe both she and Mr. Collins would spare society and give up the practice altogether. Poor Elizabeth-how valiantly she had borne that partner.
"Darcy, what are you thinking of? I swear, you positively chuckled."
"Have you met the woman you would marry if the world would let you?"
"Have you?"
Darcy rolled his eyes and reminded his cousin that a question isn't an answer and there's the Parsonage anyway.
The cottage was aflutter. Clearly, the good clergyman had anticipated their visit but shortly and was mustering his troops for parade. Why his aunt allowed, much less encouraged, such behavior was beyond him.
Mr. Collins was upon them. All flattery-bowing and reacquainting him with...Charlotte Lucas! He had deemed her more sensible than this. But no, Mr. Collins had clearly said "Miss Charlotte Lucas." Darcy turned...and looked directly into the sweet face of Elizabeth Bennet as she was rising from her curtsy.
God, no! She could not be Mrs. Collins. She was his dearest and loveliest Elizabeth. The woman who filled his dreams...married to Mr. Collins? But she was no mercenary, he was sure of that. She was no fawning toad to prate upon his aunt and curry favor for a living or two. This couldn't be.
His eyes sought hers and found there...not the spark and fire he had come to love, but a wall as impenetrable as any he had ever flung up. Unreadable. Unflappable. So soft and demure as she spoke to his cousin and welcomed him to her home. He braced himself. Now she addressed him. Now she welcomed him.
The eternity of the visit ended; Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam walked back to Rosings.
"What a lovely woman," the Colonel began. " Pretty, gracious, truly a gentleman's daughter. Totally wasted on that caricature of man. And Miss Lucas will be pleasant to talk with. Seems sensible and informed. Not lively, but certainly better company than we'll find up there," the Colonel nodded his head to Rosings.
"I knew her when she was lively."
"Miss Lucas?"
"No, Miss...Mrs. Collins." Darcy corrected himself. His throat dry, his hands clenching, he fought to compose himself. "I knew her as Elizabeth Bennet. In Hertfordshire."
"Not the Elizabeth Bennet that Caroline Bingley is so outraged over? Not the sister of Mr. Bingley's unfortunate inclination?" The Colonel's eyes narrowed and he glanced sidelong at his cousin. "Not the woman you would marry if the world would let you?" he ventured.
"How came she to be here?" was all Darcy could manage.
Easter week passed. While the Colonel went driving with Cousin Anne, walked the lanes with Miss Lucas, and looked into the affairs of his aunt's estate, Darcy wore out a corner in the library. Stricken with fear that he would chance upon Elizabeth, he sought refuge where he had always found answers. Now that she was forever bound to another man, he knew that she was all he desired. And yet, she couldn't have been. No woman he could have loved would have married herself to a man she didn't love, let alone respect.
She had been flirting with him after all, hoping to entrap him. She was clever, that one. Most women flirted with flattery. But she had seen through him, and had sought his heart by engaging his spirit. He and Bingley had had a close call. The Bennet sisters had been after their money. He could only imagine whom Jane Bennet had caught with her lovely face and sweet manner.
Sadness seeped through him as he thought of Elizabeth's fine, dark eyes. Only four months ago, they had sparkled at him. Against his will, he had reveled in the promises those lovely eyes imparted. He had danced to her tune. It had only been with the strongest resolve that he had he quit her company, never quite believing he would not return again to Hertfordshire. Now, remembering Elizabeth's calm demeanor at the parsonage, Darcy couldn't describe what he saw in those lovely eyes in the place where the sparkle had shone, but it chilled him.
"Come Darcy, I can't let you mope about our entire visit." Colonel Fitzwilliam was finishing breakfast and outlining the day's possibilities. "Cousin Anne and I have been round the park twice since we arrived, and you'll be interested to know that the ideas you put forth last year are being implemented. Rollings, in particular, has been after me to get you out to look at a few things, you being the lord and master up at Pemberley. You know, he's still scheming to push Reynolds out and have a go at a productive estate."
Darcy smiled at his cousin, and walked over to the window. "I'll tell you what. Let me write my letters to London and then we'll tour the estate together, but on horseback," he cautioned. " I don't want to accompany Cousin Anne today."
His letters written, Darcy squared his shoulders. Once again, he determined to put behind him Elizabeth and the confusion she had caused. Occupation-that's what he needed.
His route to the stables took him by a little wilderness-just passing it, he heard a nightingale, so sweet and low that he stopped, searching the trees for the bird. He took a little side path, following the bird's song, deeper into the woods until he came to where the path abruptly ended in a thicket. His nightingale rested high above the thicket, and just as Darcy was about to call to it, he heard Charlotte Lucas on the other side.
"Oh Lizzy, there you are. You must come back to the house now, quickly. Mr. Collins has been gone a great while to Rosings and will be home soon. Please--he won't like it that you've been gone from the house. Already Miss deBorough has been by and she'll report that you did not attend her."
Eavesdropping is abhorrent. Low, mean. Unfair. Nevertheless, Darcy stood rooted, straining to hear Elizabeth.
"I cannot bear this, Charlotte. I cannot bear this life. I have done all that has been asked of me, but I cannot go to Rosings today for tea."
"But we have been there many times before. Why should now be different?"
"I cannot bear to have him see me married to Mr. Collins."
"Mr. Darcy? But you never desired his good opinion in Hertfordshire, why do you care now what he thinks of you?"
"I met him as an equal then. He--a gentleman, and I--a gentleman's daughter. He scorned me as not pretty enough to tempt him, but I could laugh at him in my turn. Now, he sees me as mercenary-I'm sure of it. He must know that I don't love or respect Mr. Collins, and all my fine words at Netherfield make me seem scheming. I don't want him to think lowly of me-I was his equal, now I am nothing."
Darcy sank to the bench at the path's end, his face cradled in his hands.
"Lizzy, dear Lizzy." Darcy could imagine Charlotte shaking her head and taking Elizabeth's hands in hers. "You are a brave woman and a dutiful daughter. Your father never would have asked you to marry Mr. Collins if he wasn't truly without recourse. Your family would have lost Longbourn-you know they would have. Now, Lady Catherine's patronage of Mr. Collins will not only keep your family home intact, but will provide an estate for your son. Lizzy, you have done what good daughters have done since time began. People don't really marry for love-not even the rich ones-it only happens in stories."
"Charlotte, you never were romantic." Darcy could almost see Elizabeth's rueful smile as she softly laughed. "I knew I never had much chance to marry for love, but I did hope to be able to love the one I married...in time. I used to dream of having a daughter...to sing to and read to and teach. I used to think about looking into her face and seeing reflected back the face of my beloved. God help me Charlotte, I don't think I could bear to look into a daughter's eyes and see Mr. Collins' face." Elizabeth's voice caught. "What shall I do when you leave me?"
"You will be strong. You may not be happy in love, but you can be respectable. You can grace your little corner of the world, and let people marvel at what a jewel of wife silly Mr. Collins has found for himself. You can be proud of keeping your family home intact. No one can fault you for that."
"Charlotte, you must promise me one thing. You must keep my mother's dream of Mr. Bingley and Jane alive. We both know that Jane would be here and not me if my mother had not believed that Mr. Bingley would return to Netherfield to make a declaration. I will be strong if you will help me protect Jane from such a life as mine. If my mother realizes that Mr. Bingley is not returning, then Jane's turn is next, and that I could not bear. She alone among us has the best chance of marrying a good, decent sort of man who would love and respect her. I can't let my mother make it otherwise."
"I will do what I can, but Jane must overcome her sadness for Mr. Bingley. No decent man will court her while she pines for another."
" She says she is over him, but I know she believes she will never meet another like him. So well suited to each other they were." Elizabeth sighed. "Perhaps, instead, she can be the world's best maiden aunt. At least then, she can call her soul her own."
Darcy remained, head in hands, as their voices softly faded. Charlotte had succeeded in calming Elizabeth and was gently leading her back to the parsonage. Unconsciously Darcy lifted his head. The nightingale was singing again high in the trees above the thicket that separated Rosings from the world.
Tea was served. Mr. Collins, a font of delicate compliments, listened attentively to Lady Catherine, injecting flattery during longer pauses, and vigorously nodding between times. Colonel Fitzwilliam talked earnestly to Charlotte, seeming to enjoy her good sense and practicality. Elizabeth, by her husband's side, sat quietly, responding when Lady Catherine required response, her eyes wandering to the windows. She seemed to long for the fresh air and sunshine that beckoned.
Darcy paced the room. Finally, when his aunt paused long enough, he asked if the ladies would oblige them with music.
Charlotte declared that she was not proficient. Mr. Collins nodded to his wife to play.
Her taste, her touch, her voice so filled the room that Darcy closed his eyes to let her soft music envelope him. He applauded quietly with the others and let his eyes shine into hers. She blushed and moved back to her place by her husband. Mr. Collins looked quickly from Darcy to Elizabeth and back to Darcy.
"My dear Elizabeth, I beg you to return to the pianoforte. Mr. Darcy wishes for more music. You must oblige him."
Darcy caught Elizabeth glancing quickly at Charlotte with a pained look. Surely music must be a solace to her-the way she played and sang, how could it not be so?
"Darcy, we should leave. We've stayed a week longer than planned already. Your life is elsewhere--with Georgiana, with Pemberley. You know you should leave. Why do you stay to torture yourself?"
Slowly, Darcy tore his gaze from the gardens and looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I'm only waiting until she hears from Jane. I must know that she has that to sustain her."
"And then you must go," the Colonel urged. "Why make her even more unhappy now by showing her the regard you never had the courage to show when you were together in Hertfordshire? Why make her think about what her life might have been?"
"Don't remind me of what my misplaced arrogance has wrought. If Bingley's regard for Jane saved her from Mr. Collins, then displaying even a part of what I felt..." Darcy turned again to the window. "I will keep my composure, Cousin."
"One more thing. Don't goad Collins into making his wife play and sing for you. Surely you've seen the agony it brings her."
"But why would it pain her? Music should ease pain."
"Think, man. Mr. Collins, instead of being outraged at your obvious regard for his wife, will not defend his honor or hers. Instead he barters her charms to win your favor-as if your favor would bring him another living, or at least keep him in our aunt's good graces. How should Mrs. Collins feel? Anything less than outrage would diminish her in my regard, and yours if you would open your eyes to her true situation."
Darcy had promised to keep his composure, but he had not promised to keep his distance. Each day, sometimes with his cousin and sometimes alone, he found himself in the parsonage. Visiting with Charlotte Lucas, bringing books and music for Elizabeth, waiting for the mail from Hertfordshire.
Three weeks from the day Darcy had overheard Elizabeth tell her tale in the thicket, he came across her as he wandered the woods, listening to birdsong and regretting...what was there not to regret? She was seated on a low bench, and she smiled warmly up at him. Her eyes glistened as she held out her letter, proof that God had not forsaken her.
"Mr. Darcy, I'm sure you won't be surprised, for Mr. Bingley, I know, relies on your good advice...but he has returned to Netherfield and Jane will make him the happiest of men."
Darcy feigned surprise-but eager to be in Elizabeth's good graces, he blushed and stammered and all but admitted the hand he had played there.
The lady smiled at him indulgently. "I cannot make you out. I know you played a part here, undoing the wrong you did when you advised Mr. Bingley to quit Netherfield altogether last November. That shows you have a generous spirit-perhaps even you believe that love can sometimes triumph over unfortunate relations."
Darcy paled at her words. Did she not understand his regret? He knew she felt his admiration, but clearly she did not see his remorse at putting prideful inhibition before his regard for her, before her happiness and well being.
"Mrs. Collins, forgive me...I am leaving tomorrow and will not return. You must know that if I had not hid my regard for you so well, you would not be here today."
Elizabeth colored and looked up into the trees above. When composed, she answered him. "There you are wrong. Had you made your regard known, I would have refused you-and you would not have sought recourse with my parents...you would not have..." Elizabeth stopped, fully conscious of the immense impropriety she was committing by divulging such intimate details.
"No, I would not have sought assistance, but surely, even if you had not felt for me what I...I mean, why would you..." Darcy struggled to keep himself in check.
"I considered you to be the very last man on earth that I would ever have been prevailed upon to marry. Your attempts to separate Jane from Mr. Bingley were bad enough, but your cruelty to Mr. Wickham is unforgivable."
"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's interests."
"'Took, Mr. Darcy. I expect he's married to Miss King by now." Wistfulness graced Elizabeth's face. "Please Mr. Darcy, we cannot continue this conversation-you know we cannot." She turned away from him, and then remembering her letter, turned back and stretched out her hand. "Thank you for helping poor Jane-I do truly thank you."
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He looked into her eyes. "I would tell you of Wickham's treachery if I could. Believe me on this, it is better that you are here as Mr. Collins's wife than married to that man." He gripped her hand, released it, and bowed. "I bid you, good day."
He turned and disappeared around the bend in the path. Elizabeth made her way slowly back to the parsonage, with a lighter, and a heavier load.
The gentlemen left Rosings in the morning.
A year passed since Fitzwilliam Darcy left Rosings in the company of Colonel Fitzwilliam. They journeyed to London together, and then the Colonel rejoined his troop while Darcy collected Georgiana in London and sought refuge in Pemberley. But a young man of property can find consolation in many parts of the world, and Pemberley's requirements were minimal. Reynolds was too capable. In all, Darcy's affairs were too organized to require the attention he needed to lavish on...something.
Darcy and Georgiana surprised their friends by traveling abroad. Seeking sunburnt mirth in Provence, passing through the hills of Tuscany, and on to Rome, restlessness dogged their travels. Darcy watched as homesickness gnawed at Georgiana, giving her a pensive, peaked look. Darcy took pity and returned to England.
In due time, his aunt's letter arrived, requesting his presence at Rosings. This year, however, the Colonel could not be spared from his duties. Darcy traveled alone into Kent.
A spring storm had ravaged the countryside. Young leaves were stripped from the trees, making the roads green. Flowers were ghostly-all stem, no color. Mothers mourned the babies that had not survived the unexpected cold.
Rosings seemed bleak, even more forbidding than Darcy remembered. He entered the drawing room, paid homage to his aunt and cousin. Looked to the pianoforte. Closed and covered.
His aunt was outlining his visit, with no detail too minor to be catalogued. "And today, my clergyman will join us for tea."
Darcy looked up in surprise. "Will his wife not also join us?" he queried.
"His wife is happily blest with a new born child. I have been sending fresh eggs daily, since their hens have gone off laying this fortnight. She would let the cocks run with them, and now they have no eggs save what I send."
"Mrs. Collins will be a good mother," was Darcy's grave reply.
"Mrs. Collins? Mrs. Collins is not the mother," Lady Catherine exclaimed. "My clergyman is Mr. Hastings. It is Mrs. Hastings that has the new baby. Mr. Collins has been dead almost nine months now. I wrote you of his accident."
"His accident? Aunt, I've been travelling. No letters from you save this last have reached me. Tell me of Mr. Collins' death."
"Stupid man. He was stung to death trying to move a hive to his garden to start a colony. I never advised him to keep bees. He didn't have the clothing. He didn't have the equipment. He didn't have the sense."
Darcy gripped the back of the chair nearest him, and instructed his body to continue breathing while his aunt continued, "My advice is always excellent. You know yourself that this is true. If he was to keep bees, I would have so advised him." She closed with a final, "Stupid man."
"And where is Mrs. Collins? Did she return to Hertfordshire? Is she with her family?"
Lady Catherine eyed her nephew narrowly as she paused first, then replied, "I believe she is with her aunt and uncle in London. She would not return to her parents' home, though her father himself traveled here to fetch her. No sense of family, no sense of obligation to her parents. Selfish girl." Darcy's mind was reeling as she continued, "Ah, here is Mr. Hastings now. Mrs. Jenkinson, ring for tea. Fitzwilliam, this is Mr. Hastings. Mr. Hastings, my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley in Derbyshire."
Darcy bowed. He said what he should and looked as he ought and resolved to quit the house at daybreak tomorrow. Elizabeth was in London, free of Mr. Collins these nine months, and soon would be out of mourning.
Darcy's first impulse was to go directly to Charles Bingley's house to ask him where he would find his sister Elizabeth. Then, the very real possibility of meeting Elizabeth there occurred to him. It wouldn't do to have her see him in the disarray brought on by travelling from Kent. It was too late for first impressions, but at least he could begin to make some good impressions. His courage faltered as he remembered their last encounter. Clearly Elizabeth was fond of Wickham. Darcy knew Wickham to be virtually incapable of maintaining a good impression, regardless of how he began. Still, she had reproved him for his treatment of the man, and she had not yet heard the full story. It was better that he go to his own house, dine with his sister, and make himself presentable.
The next day, shortly after breakfast, Darcy was ushered into Bingley's library. Bingley was delighted to shake hands with his old friend.
"Darcy, it's good to see you. I heard you were back. Caroline told me Georgiana paid her a call, but you were still flying off about the countryside. I hope you're here for some duration at last."
"I intend to stay in London for a time, but Pemberley does require some of my attention and attendance after being abroad. Perhaps you and Mrs. Bingley can join Georgiana and me at Pemberley this summer."
At this, Bingley's broad smile reached dangerous proportions. "But Darcy, that's the best of it. Jane is in confinement until July at least. Did you not hear of our good news? I thank you for the invitation, but we are staying in London until well after the child is born."
Hearty congratulations were given and received. Darcy looked at his friend in admiration. Married life did suit him. More self-assured than when he was single. The Bennet family didn't seem to have ruined his reputation. On the contrary, while his sunny disposition had remained intact, Mrs. Bingley had proved a steadying force on his impulsive good nature. Now Bingley was to be a father-he would be a good one. Any child would be lucky to have such a father...pity the poor children with no fathers at all. A sudden thought chilled him.
"I've just come from Kent, from a brief visit to Lady Catherine. She tells me your sister Mrs. Collins is now a widow."
"Yes." Bingley sighed deeply and sank into a chair. "Jane was quite worried about Elizabeth for some time."
"She's not...I mean...not in the same situation as Mrs. Bingley?" Darcy awkwardly ventured.
"No, no. She's not here. Elizabeth lives with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in Gracechurch Street.
They've taken good care of her. She's almost herself again," Bingley replied, misunderstanding Darcy's stammering.
Hang propriety. "I mean, she's not in confinement herself?" Darcy asked baldly.
"Good heavens, no." Bingley looked slyly at his friend. "If you mean to call at Gracechurch Street, don't bother this month. They've taken the children to Longbourn and are exploring the Lakes."
"And who is caring for those children at Longbourn with Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Collins gone?"
"Oh, Mary and Kitty are quite good girls. Lydia, unfortunately, is still rather wild. Jane tells me her father has let her go to Brighton again this year." Bingley brightened. "Stay to dinner?"
"Delighted to."
With Elizabeth gone from London, the restlessness returned. What to do for three weeks? Georgiana certainly needed companionship. They could go to Pemberley. Darcy made the arrangements despite Georgiana's protests. She wanted to be settled; why did he need to be forever traveling about like this? Darcy would leave on horseback tomorrow, and Georgiana would follow the next day.
The journey from London afforded Darcy yet more opportunity to think. The last time they met had been fraught with tension, yet there was tenderness there too. She had declared that she would have refused him had he offered. His feelings had been constant, but had hers undergone any change? She had confessed that she couldn't make him out. Perhaps she still admired Wickham. He knew she was friendly with the Colonel. Perhaps Collins had made her swear off marriage forever.
And then he heard it again, high up in the trees, the lovely mating call of the nightingale. Darcy slowed his horse to a walk, then stopped and dismounted. Gazing upwards, searching for the troubadour, Darcy felt the soft spring sunshine of home filter through the trees. He walked his horse the short distance to the stables, and headed for the house. And there, on the grassy slope, looking straight at him was Elizabeth herself. They were within twenty yards of each other. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each was overspread with the deepest blush...
And, my dear reader, you know the rest of the story. The lovely awkwardness of their meeting at Pemberley, the budding friendship of the Gardiners with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana finally meeting. True, Bingley remained in London with Mrs. Bingley, and the letter from Longbourn was penned by Mary, but the essentials are the same. Our dear Mr. Darcy rose to the occasion and performed the supremely selfless act of persuading Wickham to marry Lydia, thereby truly showing to one and all that he deserves all the happiness that his lovely Elizabeth will bring to him.
The End.